


To Have And To Hold

by gentle_teeth



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Brief Alcohol Use, Characters Called by First Names, Dubcon (imagined), Everyone in the Empire is Power-Crazed, Krennic is Going to Die Alone, Leave Galen Alone, M/M, Masturbation, Orson Krennic is Not Nice, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Imbalance, Project Stardust, Space Whiskey, Spit As Lube, Unrequited Lust, fantasies, power fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26585428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentle_teeth/pseuds/gentle_teeth
Summary: Orson Krennic takes a moment to consider the captive Galen Erso.
Relationships: Galen Erso/Lyra Erso (mentioned), Galen Erso/Orson Krennic
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	To Have And To Hold

**Author's Note:**

> The hardest thing about this fic was coming up with a Star Wars space liquor OTHER than Corellian whiskey, and in the end I decided not to name it because that was too hard. Not even kidding.
> 
> TW DUBCON: Krennic imagines a number of sexual situations with Galen Erso wherein Galen is being coerced or otherwise influenced to comply. Although he wants Galen's consent, he certainly isn't picky about how he might get it.

Commander Orson Krennic marched down the ramp of the shuttle, curtly acknowledging the troopers who saluted him as he exited the craft. Galen Erso was led off behind him, but Orson told himself he wouldn’t show weakness by turning around to look. Let Galen feel how alone he was here, he thought. It might encourage him to work harder to earn his place back.

Orson steeled himself and resolved to put as much distance as possible between himself and Galen before he could do something stupid, or show too much of his hand.Surely Galen could already tell he was being given preferential treatment, seeing as he was still alive and allowed to stay in his own quarters.It wouldn’t do to prove him right.Satisfied with this decision, Orson hurried off to report to Tarkin for debriefing so he could get on with his day.It was a tactical retreat, he told himself.He wasn’t running away.

That night, alone in his quarters, Orson slumped onto his couch and poured himself a drink.He thought of Galen, confined to his own quarters, and wondered if he’d be sent to reconditioning the next day.It was the man’s own fault if he was, Orson decided with a sigh.Galen was the one who’d foolishly decided to run away.Did he really think he could escape the Empire?And he’d taken his stupid wife with him.And his _child_.Orson only regretted that he hadn’t had them _both_ shot.He couldn’t forget the look in Galen’s eyes when they’d tracked him down on Lah’mu.Galen had no right, he thought, to look so betrayed when Orson was the one who’d been lied to.Been left behind.Lost one of his _best_ scientists, not to mention a man he could almost consider a friend— it simply wasn’t Galen’s place to play the victim.

Orson took a long drink and set his glass down, sinking deep into the cushions.Thinking of Galen wasn’t exactly going to improve his mood, but it was too late now.He scrubbed a hand over his face, pausing as he touched his lips.How he’d longed for Galen to touch them himself; how many times he’d ached to lean in and kiss him in the lab, late at night.He knew that tonight, for the first time in years, Galen would sleep alone, and despite himself Orson yearned to fill the space beside him.

If he tried hard enough, he wondered, could he?Could he talk his way into Galen’s lonely bed, given enough time?He certainly had time now, he thought.Galen wouldn’t be allowed to leave this ship for a while, yet. _I’ve got him_ , he thought, _I can order him to do anything I want_ ; but the very idea disgusted him.If Galen wouldn’t come to him willingly, what was the point?Just to rub salt in his wounds, after Orson had already taken everything from him?No, he wanted Galen to come on his own.

What would he do if Galen _did_ come?He couldn’t be sure.Would he invite the man into his quarters and offer him wine on the couch?Would he drop to his knees in the doorway, forgetting his decorum in the rush of getting what he’d longed for?He reminded himself not to think about such things.Galen’s research was the only reason anyone needed him now, and that included Orson.He wouldn’t make the mistake of getting attached again; odds were he’d have to shoot the man himself one of these days.He sighed and drained his glass, then poured himself another.In his moment of weakness he’d let himself forget that Galen’s days were numbered.The man was living on borrowed time, and Orson knew he’d be executed the second the weapon was finished.If Orson didn’t do it himself, Tarkin would make sure it happened anyway.

Somehow, that thought didn’t do anything to quell Orson’s longing.If anything, it amplified it; he felt as though he needed to attach himself to Galen for every precious second his heart beat.He felt like a man on the verge of starvation, watching his food supply dwindle day by day.Orson groaned.This level of desire was unsustainable, he knew, and would certainly leave him open to manipulation.After all, Galen was just another expendable engineer who would one day outlive his usefulness.Once Project Stardust was complete, he would become nothing more than a liability.But for now, Orson reminded himself, he was a man; a brilliant, beautiful man whom Orson wanted more than anyone in the galaxy.Galen would make the Death Star a reality, and for a brief moment, perhaps he could stand by Orson’s side to see it.

Orson felt his chest tighten as he thought of how the scenario might play out.Himself on the bridge of a Star Destroyer, with Tarkin and Vader watching, Galen behind him, and the entire crew gathered to see the full might of his weapon.To see the whole ship bathed in green light from the converging beams as it fired, larger and more powerful than any laser cannon in the universe, and to know he held that power in his hands.They would celebrate afterwards, of course, with a gala, where Orson and his team would be lavished in praise, and then there would be a much smaller, more special celebration afterwards.One with only him and Galen in attendance, held in his private quarters.Oh yes, he thought, that celebration would be far more entertaining.Orson shifted on the couch, finally undoing the fastenings on his collar and belt.He took another sip of his drink, feeling his first one begin to take effect. 

He wasn’t planning to get drunk— a commander was never off duty, after all— but he wanted to let go a little.In the span of a week, he’d found and captured Galen Erso, been shot, received new funding for Project Stardust, and transferred to Tarkin’s ship indefinitely.He would take whatever time he could for himself.He sat up and shrugged his jacket off, tossing it over the table.He let the fantasy continue as he lay back down, imagining just what he and Galen might do after a long night spent celebrating together.

He thought about how they might trade looks over glasses of champagne, how he might pull Galen aside to congratulate him for a job well done.How they might stand side-by-side, close enough for their hands to brush together, as Orson leaned in to whisper something suggestive in his ear.Orson groaned, picturing the expression on Galen’s face when he realized he was being propositioned.Would he be surprised?Would he smirk and let Orson lead him out toward the lifts?Or would he turn away to hide his blush, and mumble that they’d scandalize the guests if they were seen flirting?

Perhaps, Orson thought, Galen might even lean into his advances.He might even let Orson put a hand on his back as they left the ballroom, ignoring the palpable shock of the other guests.Stardust would be _their_ accomplishment, after all.They could afford to be a little rude.If he wanted to leave his own party, he’d do it without shame; if he wanted to take someone pretty with him, he’d do that too.Just the thought of flouting etiquette in front of Tarkin made him chuckle, sure the old man would burst an aneurism to see such disrespect on his own ship.But Tarkin could get fucked, in his opinion.Orson returned to his more interesting fantasy, picturing himself pressing Galen against the door to his quarters.He wanted Galen’s hands on his back, around his waist, pulling him in; wanted his tongue in Galen’s mouth as they traded champagne-flavored kisses.He wouldn’t even stop to breathe, he thought.They’d undress each other by touch alone, both familiar enough with the way an Imperial uniform worked. 

Orson rubbed a palm over the front of his trousers, exhaling a deep moan.He draped his free arm over his chest, trying to simulate the feeling of Galen’s body pressing against his.His hand brushed against his nipple through his soft undershirt, and he shivered, arching up off the couch.He imagined Galen would be a shy kisser, but adventurous with his hands— probably easily led back to the bed for Orson to pin down and undress.But Galen wouldn’t just lie back and be ravished.No, Orson thought, he’d give as good as he got, reaching out to hold Orson by the hips and grind against him, slowly and firmly.Orson pushed up harder against his hand, all the air leaving his body with a sigh. 

Would they have sex then, he wondered, or would Galen try to draw out the foreplay?Both options had their appeal.He wanted so badly to just push Galen down and have his way with him, but what was the rush?With Project Stardust complete, Orson would finally have recognition, undreamt of power, and all the time in the universe.He could spend hours taking Galen apart if he wanted to.He’d flip them over, he decided, once he’d let Galen have his fun.He would pull him halfway off the bed, feet on the floor, face down.He could study the man’s broad back and rake his nails down it, determined to claim every inch of Galen while he was still there to claim.

Orson hurried to undo his trousers, shoving them to his knees and doing the same with his underwear.He spat hastily in his palm, breathing a sigh of relief when his slick hand made contact with his cock.He would have preferred real lube, but the idea of further interrupting his fantasy to get it just didn’t seem worth it.Besides, he thought, this way he could imagine taking Galen roughly, the both of them too eager to move things along to bother with lengthy preparation.He’d use the lube then, of course.He had no desire to hurt Galen that way, only to see him squirm a little out of discomfort.Orson groaned, stroking himself faster as he imagined Galen’s insides squeezing around him, involuntarily twitching as the man tried to relax, already being rammed up the bed without enough time to adjust.He wondered if Galen was quiet or loud in bed, and immediately resolved to make him scream regardless.If the man proved naturally silent, that wasn’t a deterrent— it would only be more rewarding to get a sound out of him.

Orson reached down with his free hand, cupping his balls as he stroked himself, and tossed his head back over the arm of the couch.He paused briefly to spit in his hand again, then returned to his fantasy, rubbing his wet palm over the glans until he felt nearly overwhelmed.He slid his hand back down to the shaft, squeezing and stroking slowly as he caught his breath.In his mind he was giving Galen a similar reprieve, slowing his pace to thrust in deep and hard rather than quick and shallow.He wanted to draw it out, to make sure Galen would still feel it in the morning. He imagined staging a surprise inspection of the lab the next day, just to watch Galen try to hide his limp in front of the crew. Orson tightened his grip, bucking his hips up hard into his hand at the thought of parading Galen around his own lab, announcing his conquest to the whole ship.

Orson swiped a thumb over his tip, feeling himself start to leak, and slowed his strokes back down. It wouldn’t do to become overeager and finish too fast— he wanted to savor his fantasy, keep the vision in his mind for as long as he could. He pulled his other hand down from his chest, using it to gently squeeze and roll his balls instead. He exhaled softly in relief, thighs twitching when his hands worked over two particularly sensitive spots. He wondered how Galen was at giving head, and promptly started imagining how he might find out for himself. Both his hands tightened their grip again at the thought of grabbing Galen by the hair and fucking his mouth, sliding between his soft lips and dangerous-looking teeth. He could practically feel how Galen would shudder and gag, unused to pleasing a man after so many years with Lyra; the thought of Galen looking up at him, eyes watering, the back of his throat spasming as he struggled to breathe, nearly sent Orson over the edge. He planted his feet firmly on the couch and arched his back, removing one hand for a split second to spit again before redoubling his efforts. He choked back a high moan, imagining the feeling of Galen’s tongue stroking him, rubbing circles from his base to his frenulum, and felt his balls tighten and draw up in his hand. His toes curled, his eyes closed, and he just barely managed to aim at his own chest rather than the couch as he finally came over his fingers.

Catching his breath, he wondered idly if Galen would spit or swallow. He’d swallow, he thought, if he knew what was good for him. Orson wouldn’t tolerate a mess in his quarters. He stroked himself until the sensation was too intense to continue, then slowly loosened his grip, sinking bonelessly into the couch cushions. Regarding the mess on his stomach, he sighed, lamenting his lack of a towel to clean up with. He suddenly felt deeply exhausted, rapidly dropping down from the high of his imagined victory celebration, alone in his quarters once again. He desperately wanted to sonic and go to sleep, but couldn’t force his legs to move. With some effort he tucked himself back into his underwear, his half-dried saliva cooling uncomfortably fast, and winced at the texture of the cloth on his sensitive skin.

Orson glanced at the open decanter and half-empty glass on his table, and the effort simply to put them away began to seem genuinely Herculean. But he wouldn’t complete Project Stardust, he thought, if he lacked the discipline to handle some simple dishes. He would not, he told himself, allow sentimental feelings to get the best of him. Heaving a sigh of frustration, he sat up, swung his legs over the side of the couch, and pulled up his rumpled trousers to head for the sonic. He was in control of his destiny, no matter what obstacles lay ahead, he told himself. He would build the Death Star, and he would have the galaxy in his hand. And then, even just for a night, he would have Galen Erso.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I had to edit this VERY heavily to make Krennic less self-aware of how much of an asshole he is. I just don't imagine he would ever acknowledge how much time he spends posturing to look tough.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated!


End file.
